


Reason

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ficlet, M/M, Pre-Reform Vulcan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 11:40:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15840546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Spock’s lover counteracted the power of his clan.





	Reason

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plyushka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plyushka/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for superplyushka’s “K/S [45 a kiss out of anger]” request on [my tumblr prompt list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/176075204220/prompt-list).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Rages rises like bile in his throat, but Spock crushes it down with chilling, merciless malice, stilling his hands and hooding his eyes. He won’t let the outside world see his loss of control, even though he knows he’s proven more controlled than most, and his father is his only current witness. Sarek says nothing as Spock paces the lavish confines of his tent, letting the emotion run its course. For the most port, such displays must be kept here. They have an example to set, an order to maintain. But they also must show their strength—make it clear that their power is unequivocal, even should they choose to follow Surak’s teachings. They can’t afford to appear weak in any way.

Finally, Sarek voices what Spock already knows: “Something will need to be done.”

“Something will be done,” Spock promises, curt and hopefully final—his father’s disapproving stare hasn’t been particularly welcome of late. Yet he knows his father won’t leave it at that, and he suffers Sarek’s withered sigh.

“He will need to be punished.”

The thought of anyone—a guard, a council member, even his own father, laying a hand on his prisoner makes Spock’s fury boil back up to the surface. Fighting through it like a wild le-matya coming in for the kill, Spock forces out: “We would have needed to speak with them eventually.”

“Spock...”

“If our species is ever to evolve, to excel, it must join the Federation, and to do so, we will need to band together. You know this. Grandfather spoke of uniting the clans...” 

“Not like this,” Sarek cuts in, stepping forward to halt Spock’s pacing. He levels Spock with an icy stare and coldly reminds him, “To have it initiated by an outsider makes our clan appear inferior. To have your unruly _lover_ overstep so gravely makes _you_ look incompetent as a tribal leader—”

“I will deal with it.” Spock has to raise his voice over his father’s, but it works; Sarek falls quiet, though clearly unappeased. Spock isn’t proud of himself. But he can’t stand another round of that same argument, the one that Spock’s heard a thousand times—he was to make an alliance with the other-worlders, not _sleep with them_. And that’s all Sarek thinks it could be. Spock can’t say that he has more than a lover—he has a _t’hy’la_ —because their people aren’t yet ready for Surak’s teachings, Surak’s own son and grandson included. 

Spock knows he’s far from the ideal Vulcan, either in the new light or the old, but he _tries_. He resists biting out that _Sarek_ bonded with a woman from a rival clan. He repeats, as calmly as he can manage, “I will deal with it.”

For a long moment, Sarek simply eyes him, as though waiting for him to crumple under all the pressures put upon his shoulders. He doesn’t. He stands firm until he’s told, “Very well. I will gather the council, and we shall deal with this trouble when you have dealt with yours.”

Spock bows his head once in acceptance, then marches past his father before his irritation can show inside his eyes. He ducks out of the sheltered tent and into the sweltering heat of the Voroth plains, blazing through the maze of tents that litter the cracked earth. Sand whirls around him with every step, obscuring his vision, but they can’t afford to move their clan yet until they know the situation with their rivals. Two guards stand outside the only unadorned tent, the plain, beige one used for things unwanted. They don’t even look at Spock as he passes, and that stokes his fire more.

He slips inside, where the heat is somewhat lessened and the agonizing light is dimmed through the fabric. A long figure sits in the center of the circular interior, pulled flush against the thick pole that holds it up. Blue eyes flicker up at Spock’s entrance, sweat-slicked muscles shifting beneath peach skin, mostly bared for Spock’s hungry gaze. Spock swoops in, and there’s nothing the prisoner can do but wait, as his arms are bound tightly behind his back and secured in place 

Spock kneels down, and in a new surge of bristling _anger_ , he slams his mouth into his t’hy’la’s. There’s no other way to release it—his partner’s too _fragile_ to hit. Humans can’t survive the old Vulcan ways. But Jim bears Spock’s searing kiss, even when Spock fills him up with tongue to the point of choking and fists long fingers into his light brown hair. 

When Spock pulls away, Jim’s gaze is dizzy, though his body strains forward, eager for Spock’s touch. Even cowed and leashed, he entices Spock, unrelenting and handsome to his core. Spock wants to pound him into the sand for what he’s done, plug him to the brim and rut with him all night. But Spock strives to be _better_ than his forbearers, and he only hisses, “You have betrayed me.”

Jim winces. He argues, as Spock knew he would. “I only extended an invitation to _talk_ , like we did with you.”

“But you stayed with me,” Spock reminds him, “and chose to become _mine_.”

Jim frowns. His lips are slightly cracked, his skin too red—he needs water. Spock will give it to him soon. Jim tells him slowly, yet firmly, “I believe in you. I believe in the philosophies you preach, even if I don’t always understand them. And I believe you could help all of Vulcan with them, if you would just get out of your own way.”

The sincerity is rife in Jim’s face. His confidence in Spock is more appreciated than he’ll ever know. But it isn’t that simple. Spock notes, “You are too hasty.”

“Yeah, that’s what Pike said before I slept with you.” He even has the nerve to smile, though he’s tied at Spock’s feet and at Spock’s mercy. Spock wishes, not for the first time, that it wasn’t so incredibly easy to _love him_.

Spock swallows. He presses, “It looks bad enough that I keep an alien at my side, but to have that alien speak for me...”

“Speak for reform,” Jim corrects. “For your logic; for what _you_ want...”

The worst part is that Jim’s right. Most days, Spock thinks Jim the most illogical creature he’s ever met. But in other ways, Jim is intelligent and bold, and he’s a leader Spock would listen to, even if no other Vulcan would. 

Together, they could change his very world. That dream helps temper his wrath. Annoyance still simmers along the surface, but Jim’s presence soothes him down to reasonable levels, to where he can hold himself with composure. He waits until every last drop of emotional turmoil has seeped out of him, and then he reaches around the pole, deftly untying his t’hy’la’s bonds. 

As the ropes come undone, Jim sweeps him into another kiss. Their hands find each other, fingers intertwining, their consciousnesses slipping into one another through the contact. Jim steadies and grounds him. Spock knows that he’s ready.

He admits a weary, “Very well,” and rises. Jim follows him out to face the coming storm.


End file.
